Page 79 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Uh… no, thanks.”

She raises her eyebrows as though I’m the first client ever to turn down champagne. I probably am.

“I’m… on a cleanse?” I offer, though it sounds like I’m asking her a question.

She brightens and nods. “Of course, ma’am. Can I get you anything else? A mocktail, perhaps, or fresh juice? Whatever you need, just say the word.”

“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” I reply nervously.

She gives me a strange look but she covers it up with the same false smile she’s been wearing for the past two hours. “Not a problem. Allow me to bring in our next selection of outfits for you.”

I sigh and slump down in the closest chair. I’m exhausted already.

Half an hour later, I finally leave the store with a few items ticked off the list Artem gave me.

But I’m nowhere near complete.

Crew Cut and Blue Eyes—I keep forgetting which one is Vlad and which one is Leo, and they’re not particularly eager to remind me—take me to five more stores down Rodeo Drive.

In each store, it’s the same song and dance. The only thing that changes is that I start dropping Artem’s name before his guards do.

The reaction is consistently amazing. Salespeople transform before my eyes the moment they hear who’s sent me.

Their austere smiles turn warm, they become more talkative, and their only concern is keeping me happy.

They shower me with compliments the entire time we’re together, fawning over everything from my hazel eyes to my hourglass figure.

They’re so effusive that it’s hard for me to believe any of them.

But I don’t deny that, for the first few hours, it is fun.

Each store offers me a selection of food and beverages as I try on their clothes. I always turn down the champagne, but I accept the delicate little finger sandwiches and petit fours.

And yet, when I walk out of the Prada store in the early evening, I’m exhausted, hungry, and most of all, thirsty.

Do people in L.A. drink champagne instead of water, I wonder?

“Is that it?” I ask Crew Cut. “Am I done for the day?”

“There’s one more place that Mr. Kovalyov wants you to visit,” he replies soberly.

Knowing it would be pointless to argue, I get in the car and we’re off to yet another designer store.

When I step out of the car, however, I freeze in front of the store’s elaborate façade.

The mannequins in the store’s display window are wearing the sexiest lingerie I have ever seen. Straps in places I didn’t know straps could go. Sheer fabric over bits that I’d always thought were meant to be covered.

I blush before I manage to get ahold of myself.

It’s just clothing, Esme.

I glare at Blue Eyes, who’s not even looking at me.

“Is this it where I’m meant to be going?” I ask.

“Yes.”

That’s when I start to get mad.

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